


Surviving

by helooksbritish



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 08:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helooksbritish/pseuds/helooksbritish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Lestrade’s relationship over the years</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surviving

**Author's Note:**

> from my FanFiction.net account... I am going to be moving several of my works to this website :)

It wasn’t fair. 

 

He was gone, and that would never change.

 

Greg Lestrade, a Detective Inspector at New Scotland Yard, was sitting in his office when he got the call.  It was everything he could do not to scream.

 

“Lestrade, Sherlock is dead, he has killed himself.”  Sergeant Sally Donavon informed her boss.  “He jumped off of St. Bart’s.”  She knew that Lestrade was close with Sherlock, though she would never understand why.  “I’m sorry, sir.” 

 

Lestrade did not say anything for what seemed like days, finally he sat down hard in his chair, and without knowing how to respond he just hung up his phone.  Lestrade’s world just crashed around him.  These were not real moments.

 

***Four Years Earlier***

Lestrade was late coming home from work.  There had been a murder-suicide that had followed hours of a hostage stand off.  From the start Lestrade knew that they would not be successful.  The husband was just too unstable, but that did not make it any easier.

 

It was rough, and all Lestrade wanted to do was to go inside, make a cup of tea, and go to bed. 

 

When he finally reached his door, it had been unlocked.  The first few times this had happened, without hesitation Lestrade pulled his gun and walked into the house tentatively.  But now, Lestrade knew what he would find. 

 

He walked into his living room and smiled at the sight of Sherlock Holmes sprawled across his couch.  “Bored!”  The younger man stated when he heard Lestrade come in.

 

Sherlock Holmes was a brilliant, young man, who occasionally would help Lestrade on the trickier of cases.  Lestrade would have had him help more often if it wasn’t for Sherlock’s drug problem.  Sherlock wasn’t a typical drug addict; he was too smart for that.  No Sherlock’s drug addiction was more out of curiosity, scientific experiment.  Sherlock had an addictive personality, and yet his need to know more was more harmful then his drug habit would ever be.

 

“Why must you break into my flat every time you are bored?”  Lestrade questioned as he turned on the lights.

 

“You got a new lock.”  Sherlock smirked.

 

“You broke the last one.”  Lestrade called out as he went into the kitchen.  “Tea?”

 

“Coffee.”  Sherlock called back.

 

“I don’t have any, would you like some tea?”

 

Sherlock didn’t say anything, just folded his arms, almost like a pouting child.

 

“I will take that as a no then.”  Lestrade turned on the pot to boil.

 

Lestrade knew that a bored Sherlock was a dangerous Sherlock.  Sherlock could not just sit at home and watch tele like a normal person, he needed to keep his mind occupied or he would start to do things that were much more destructive.  Lestrade came remember going over to check on Sherlock and finding him boiling body parts in his kitchen, Sherlock had stated it was an experiment, but Lestrade made him quit, especially after he noticed Sherlock had a sizable burn on his fore arm where he had gotten too close to his ‘experiment’. 

 

“And besides you like it when I break into you flat.”  Sherlock said walking into the kitchen and sitting at the kitchen table.

 

“Only when I come home and you have not destroyed the place.”

 

Sherlock smirked again.  “Do you have any cases?”

 

“No, sorry.”  Lestrade sat at the table across from Sherlock.  “Have you been keeping clean?”  He did a quick glace to see if he could notice any track marks on Sherlock’s forearms, but there was nothing new.

 

Sherlock didn’t answer.

 

“Are you staying here tonight, or just stopping by to inform me that you are bored?”  Lestrade finally asked after a long silent period.

 

Sherlock shrugged.

 

“I would like it if you stayed.  You do not come over as often as you used to,” Lestrade smiled. 

 

Sherlock, to Lestrade’s surprise, smiled back.

 

Lestrade poured himself a cup and sat at the table.   Within moments, Sherlock took his cup and began drinking it.  Lestrade knew this was going to happen, which is why he made enough for two cups even though Sherlock did not want one.

 

To an outside person their relationship would be confusing, to be honest, their relationship was often confusing to Lestrade as well.  Sherlock was not interested in romance, he did not have desire for anything sexual, and yet he needed someone there sometimes.  Lestrade was amazed at difference in Sherlock the first time the older man had hugged him.  Sherlock was frantic, unable to focus, he was detoxing (the first time) and shaking, Lestrade had been there the whole time.  Lestrade could not handle it any longer.  He could not watch the younger man shaking so uncontrollably that Lestrade took him into his arms and held him, hugged him until he was calm.

 

This was the first time, in a long time that Sherlock could remember any type of physical interaction he had with another person, and he liked the way it made him feel.

 

It didn’t happen often, but every now and again Sherlock would seek out Lestrade when he could no longer handle his own brain.  Sherlock would break into Lestrade’s home and wait for the DI to get home.  He would never ask for anything, but Lestrade knew him well enough that Sherlock never had to ask for anything.

 

“Alright, I am going to bed, you coming?”  Lestrade questioned.

 

Sherlock followed him into the back room.  They both crawled under the blankets and Greg wrapped his arms tightly around Sherlock pulling the young man into his chest and holding him protectively.  “Good night Sunshine.”  Greg smiled.

 

Sherlock didn’t say anything, and was soon sleeping.

 

The next morning Sherlock woke up gently crawled out from under Lestrade’s arm.  He moved slowly as not to wake the other man.  Sherlock paused a moment and looked at the sleeping man.  Tenderly he ran a single finger over the details of Lestrade’s face.  And ever so softly he brushed a chaste kiss on his temple, before leaving the room.

 

Lestrade listened as he heard the bedroom door, then the soft steps down the hall through the living room and finally out the door.  Lestrade did not move until he heard the outside door close.

 

When their relationship was still new, Greg had woken up as Sherlock was leaving, and tried to convince him to stay.  It was days until Sherlock would come over again.  Another time Sherlock leaned into kiss the sleeping older man, and Lestrade kissed him back.  It took months for Sherlock to come back.  Lestrade knew that Sherlock was not comfortable with typical relationship things, and he learned that in order to have and enjoy these moments of soft, sweet Sherlock, he must remain sleeping, even if it is just an act.  There was never doubt in Lestrade’s mind that Sherlock loved him back, he just wished, sometimes, that he was able to show his affection more openly.  But then again, Lestrade would not have Sherlock any other way.  He loved Sherlock and all of his curious dealings.

 

***Present Day***

Not many showed up for Sherlock’s funeral.  But that is how it goes, when everyone believes that he was a fake, a criminal, who killed himself in shame.  But those who did come came for the ones Sherlock left in his wake.  John was view by most as though he was Sherlock’s widower.  Everyone came to John with their sympathies and condolences. 

 

Lestrade stayed at the back, he could not bring himself to go closer to the front.  He could see the urn where Sherlock’s ashes had been placed, and that alone was too much to handle.

 

“I am very sorry for you loss.”  A voice came from beside Greg.  He looked over to see Sherlock’s brother, Mycroft Holmes.

 

“I was just a friend.”  He lied, “I am very sorry about your brother.”  Greg tried to play it off.

 

“My brother had many secrets, but none he could keep from me.  I knew about your relationship, and my brother’s feeling towards you.  I should thank you for getting him clean and keeping him that way.”

 

Lestrade didn’t say anything.   He had never met Mycroft, but had heard stories from both Sherlock and John.  He honestly hoped he would never have to meet Mycroft.  “You should tell John.  You both need each other now.”

 

Lestrade looked up from where he was staring off in the distance, but Mycroft was gone.  How was he going to tell John?  ‘Hi John, oh by the way I was in a relationship of sorts with Sherlock long before you were ever in the picture’.  Lestrade mused how that conversation would go, and then finally decided that it would never happen.

 

Lestrade continued standing at the back.  He watched the people come in and then leave again.  No one really cared about Sherlock during his life; Lestrade could not understand why they would be here at his funeral.  Finally everyone was gone; the only ones left in the room were Lestrade, John, and the urn with Sherlock’s ashes.

 

Lestrade walked up to John, “Let’s go get a drink.”

 

John looked worn out, about as worn as Lestrade felt, “Yeah, alright.”

 

***2 years earlier***

“Mrs. Hudson is looking for a renter, you should go look at the flat.” Lestrade was always trying to get Sherlock out of his current flat; it was in a bad location and was falling apart.

 

“Mrs. Hudson?” Sherlock gave Lestrade a quizzical look.

 

“About couple years ago you helped in the case against her husband.  He got the death penalty.” 

 

“Oh, right.”

 

The two were walking back to Lestrade’s flat after a rather long day, but with a man behind bars. 

 

“It’s a two bedroom.”  Sherlock said after a long pause.

 

“What?”

 

“The flat, it has two bedrooms.”

 

“Then get a flat mate.”  Lestrade laughed off.

 

Sherlock didn’t say anything for a moment.  “You could live with me.”

 

“Oh sunshine, I love you, but that would not work.  You know it as much as I do, you would get annoyed with me a few days.”  Lestrade could see that he was hurting Sherlock with his words, so he reached out and grabbed his hand.  “I love you, and I don’t want to change what we have.”  Lestrade kissed Sherlock’s hand.  “We will find you a flat mate, no worries.”

 

Sherlock was quiet, but he did agree with Greg, the two of them living together would be a really bad idea. 

 

Greg enjoyed these quiet moments with Sherlock, walking together, sitting together, and holding hands.  His relationship would never make sense to an outsider, what they had, was beyond words.  Greg interlocked his fingers with Sherlock’s. 

 

***Present Day***

Greg sat at a table across from John and placed the two beers on the table.  “How are you doing?”  He questioned John.

 

“Why have you not told anyone?”

 

“What?”  Greg questioned.

 

“I know about you and Sherlock.  How are you surviving this?  I was just his flat mate, and I don’t think I can manage.  You, on the other hand, were in a relationship, and yet you remain very tight about everything.”

 

Greg stared dumbstruck.  “He told you?”

 

“Haha, no, Sherlock never talked about his personal life.”  John took a drink.  “I lived with him, I saw you two together.”

 

Greg waited for John to elaborate.

 

“During Moriarty’s bombing spree, you were over late arguing with Sherlock.  I had gone to bed and you stayed over.  I saw you together.”  John said awkwardly, looking down at his drink.

 

“Sherlock is asexual,” Lestrade’s face fell, “Was, Sherlock was asexual.  We did not have a sexual relationship.”

 

Lestrade didn’t know if it would ever feel normal talking about Sherlock in past tense.  Sherlock, his Sherlock who was so real to him, there with him only a few nights previous.

 

“I know,” John said casually, even though they were both a bit uncomfortable talking about Lestrade’s sex life, or lack of a sex life.  “But I also know that he loved you.”

 

“Yeah, well maybe on some days.”  Greg tried to laugh off, but found it hard.

 

John could see that Lestrade was hurting; he reached across the table and put a comforting hand on Lestrade’s shoulder.

 

***4 years ago***

Lestrade was standing on a crime scene waiting on Sherlock to show up.  There was nothing special about this murder, but Lestrade could see that Sherlock was getting restless, so he called him.  Lestrade understood Sherlock, and knew that if he did not keep himself occupied then he would do something a bit more destructive.  Sherlock had been clean for six months, and yet Lestrade always feared a relapse.

 

Lestrade was leaning against his car when Sherlock showed up, and the moment he got out of the cab Lestrade was on alert.  Sherlock was different, Sherlock was high.

 

“What do we have Lestrade?”  Sherlock questioned as soon as he saw the Detective Inspector watching him.  “Murder, I bet the husband did it, she was cheating on him, wasn’t she.  Bad romances always end up in gunshot murders.”  Sherlock was talking extremely fast.

 

“What are you doing?”  Lestrade questioned.

 

Sherlock looked at him.

 

“You will never again come to my crime scene while high.  Now just turn around and leave.”  Lestrade didn’t say anything else to Sherlock just headed back towards the crime tape.

 

“Lestrade, I’m coming with you.  I need this; I need to figure out this murder.”  Sherlock followed closely.

 

Lestrade still didn’t say anything, he crossed the tape and Sherlock started to follow.

 

“Is he with you?”  Another one of the Yarders questioned.

 

“This man?  I don’t know him; make sure he does not cross into my crime scene.”  Lestrade told the other officer.

 

Sherlock looked extremely hurt.  Lestrade was very angry.

 

“So is that it?  You get mad at me and act as though you don’t even know me?  Some boyfriend you are!”  Sherlock yelled.  Sherlock was angry, and he knew that Lestrade would be pissed at a statement like that, announced so everyone could hear.

 

Lestrade turn around and glared at Sherlock.  _Victory when to Sherlock_ , he always knew which buttons would hit Lestrade the hardest.

 

Lestrade kept walking.

 

“Sir, did he just call you his boyfriend?”  Sally questioned.

 

“Not now, Sally.”  Lestrade went straight to work.

 

When Lestrade finally went home he found his front door unlocked.  He could see that someone had clumsily picked the lock.  Lestrade pulled out his gun.  Quietly, he walked into the flat; all of his senses were on alert.  There was a light on in the back of the house, in the kitchen.  Lestrade headed in that direction still being cautious.

 

Lestrade swore and lowered his gun.  “What the hell?”

 

Sherlock was sitting on the kitchen counter with a bottle of water in his hand.  “I was waiting for you.  And I think I may have broke your lock.”

 

“You’re high, and I told you I would have nothing to do with you if you were high.”  Lestrade looked away from Sherlock, putting his gun away and sitting to take off his shoes.

 

“I’m not high anymore.”  Sherlock took another drink, and jumped off of the counter.  He walked up to Greg; he got very close and kissed the older man. 

 

Greg wanted to continue kissing Sherlock.  In fact, he wanted to drag him upstairs and move things along, but he knew these were just the effects of the drugs.  “Sherlock stop.”

 

Sherlock again looked hurt. 

 

“We’ve been through this.  You said you were going to get clean, stop taking the cocaine, and take care of yourself.  I will have nothing to do with you when you are doing this to yourself.  That means both professionally or intimately.  I love you, only God knows why, and I will not stand by and watch you do this to yourself.”

 

“It wasn’t cocaine.”  Sherlock stated again trying to get close to Greg.

 

“What?”

 

“It was ecstasy.  It was an experiment.”  Sherlock stated.

 

“No, that doesn’t change anything.  Why are you experimenting with drugs?”

 

“I wanted to be more for you, and I read that ecstasy makes you…”  Sherlock didn’t finish his sentence.

 

Lestrade began to notice; the physical affection, the jittery way Sherlock was acting, the sweating, the need.  Sherlock Holmes was horny, and he didn’t know what to do about it.  Lestrade laughed out loud.

 

Sherlock looked up in surprise.  “What?”

 

Lestrade realized laughing was probably not the correct reaction, but he still smiled.  “Sherlock, I don’t want you on the drugs.  You do not have to be anyone else for me.  I want you for who you are, not what we do together.”  Lestrade restrained himself from reaching out and touching Sherlock affectionately.  “And as for that,” Lestrade pointed down to Sherlock’s erection which had become visible in his trousers, “you’ll have to deal with it yourself.  You can stay, but you will be on the couch.”  Lestrade turned and went upstairs.  He was going to make Sherlock suffer for being so stupid.

 

***2 years ago***

 

After work, Greg planned on going over to Baker Street and helping Sherlock unpack his things.  When he got there he was shocked to see that Sherlock was neatly putting his books onto a shelf. 

 

“Who are you and what have you done with Sherlock?”

 

“What?  What’d I do?” Sherlock questioned giving him a weird look.  Greg just smiled.

 

“Would you like some help?”  He asked as he looked in the boxes, some of which were packed neatly, whilst others look as though Sherlock just grabbed and handful of items and tossed them towards a box (and very likely that is exactly what he had done).

 

“No,” Sherlock tossed the empty box aside and placed the last book on the shelf.

 

“I see you have taken over the kitchen.”  Greg walked though and examined the scientific equipment that was on the tables.

 

“I found a flat mate.” Sherlock said after there was a long silence.

 

“Yeah, who?”  Lestrade was skeptical.

 

“What so that you can run a background check on him?”

 

“Now would I do something like that?”  Lestrade joked.

 

“You do and I’ll delete you from my hard drive again.”  Sherlock stated opening another box.

 

Ever since Lestrade claimed not to know Sherlock on the crime scene, it had become a game of sorts between the two, (a way of showing one was not okay with the other’s actions) by acting as though he did not know the other. 

 

Lestrade just smiled.

 

“Dr. John Watson, he was a soldier.”  Sherlock stated after a long pause.

 

“You know I am going to look into him.”

 

For a split second Lestrade saw a smile cross Sherlock’s face.  Sherlock liked that Lestrade could be over protective, even though he would NEVER admit it.

 

***Two and a half years after The Fall***

Lestrade came to a crime scene; this was the third like it.  Normally Lestrade only dealt with homicides, but these were different.  The victim, if you can call them that, was attacked and beaten until unconscious, then tied up, and left.  All the evidence against each one was left near the unconscious ‘victim’, and the police were called and informed of the location.  These ‘victims’ were very bad people, each of which were connected in some way back to Moriarty. 

 

-John, there’s another one.  Same as the others, will you come? -GL

 

-Of course, send me the details -JW

 

Lestrade sent John the address.

 

John had, in the years following Sherlock’s death, stepped in as a consulting detective, or at least a consulting medical examiner (he was very good at noticing things the forensic team had missed). 

 

Lestrade did not know what to do about these cases.  On the one hand they had to catch whoever was doing it because it was illegal to beat the shit out of another person, and yet, whoever this vigilante was he or she was making a larger dent in Moriarty’s former crime ring then the Yarders would ever be able.  Two men were already in a secure medical facility and when they wake from the coma; there is enough evidence against each to put them away from a very long time.  Now there was going to be a third.  Lestrade looked through the compiled evidence that was left at the crime scene.

 

“Sir, I think you should come see this.”  Sally Donavon came up next to her boss.

 

John was walking up at the same time, the three of them walked into the next room.

 

“We just found this when the medical team came to get the victim.”  She stated.

 

Both John and Lestrade looked down at the floor.  Cut into the boards was a single word, “Rache”.  A chill went through the air.  Lestrade was not sure he was going to be able to stand.  He felt a bit faint and quickly left the room.

 

Outside in the hall, he slide down the wall until he was seated, using the wall as support.  His brain was going so fast he could not hold onto a single thought.

 

“Greg, are you okay?”  John came out to find Lestrade down on the floor.  “You are white as a ghost.”  John, ever the doctor, reached out and touched Lestrade’s face. 

 

“Did you not see it?”  Lestrade questioned.

 

“What?”  John questioned.

 

“ _Rache,_ it’s a message.” 

 

“Yes, revenge.  Someone is doing this out of revenge.” 

 

Lestrade waited for John to catch up. 

 

Within moments John was down on the floor next to him.  “You don’t think.”

 

Lestrade put his face down into his hands.  “I can’t do this.”

 

“It has nearly been three years, it can’t be, he cannot be aliv….” 

 

“Don’t say it.  Please don’t say it.”  Lestrade took in a deep breath and stood.  “Come on, we have work to do.”

 

Just starring at the words craved into the floor caused Greg’s heart to skip beats, when he walked back into the room.  He knew he couldn’t get his hopes up because there were so many who knew about the ‘Study in Pink’, as John’s blog called it.   These could be a revenge killings, ‘ _rache’_ does mean revenge in German. 

 

***3 Years ago***

Sherlock was scared.  He had seen the ‘hound’, even though he knew it could not have been there, he knew he saw it.  Sherlock had never felt fear, not like this.  He wanted to call Lestrade, but couldn’t.  Sherlock could not admit that he was scared, not to Lestrade. 

 

The mobile rang in his pocket.

 

Sherlock looked at the name, Lestrade, Sherlock wondered slightly if the man had a gift for knowing when he was needed or if this was just a coincidence.  After seeing the hound tonight he was ready to believe just about anything.

 

Sherlock didn’t answer the call.  Almost immediately after the last ring there was a message, and then a text.  Sherlock smiled.  “I guess you aren’t answering.”

 

<<Your brother just called me saying you were on a case in Baskerville, call me. -GL>>

 

Sherlock smiled, again.  Just knowing Greg cared made him feel better, yet he still would not answer.

 

<<I’ll be up in the morning, I am worried about you -GL>>

 

<<No need, its all fine -SH>>

 

<<Sherlock why won’t you answer my calls? I am worried about you, your brother is too-GL>>

 

<<I will see you in the morning- GL>>

 

<<I said there was no need -SH>>

 

<<Yeah, but I am going to do it anyway-GL>>

 

Sherlock decided there was no sense fighting with him, it would be nice to have Greg up here, but he would act as though he deleted him from his hard drive, just to get his point across, and because it irritated Lestrade when Sherlock ‘can’t’ remember his first name.

 

***Present Time***

“Sir, we found a print.”  Anderson looked white when he came into Lestrade’s office.

 

“Is it from the vigilante?”  Lestrade questioned.

 

“It was on the file, everything else is clear.  It was a perfect print too.  But there’s a problem…”  Anderson looked at the sheet he was holding, he didn’t know how to tell Lestrade this news.

 

“Well, who is it from?”

 

“Sir, the print was from Sherlock Holmes.  But that is not possible.”  Anderson handed Lestrade the print out.

 

Lestrade read and reread the results.  This could not be possible.

 

***The Night Before the Fall***

 

Lestrade way awake in his bed.  It had been a horrible night.  The only thing that could have made it any worse were if the children had not been alive, or would it?  There was something about Sherlock the girl was afraid of, and that is what cause all the other problems.  Lestrade mentally smacked himself for even thinking it would be better if they had not found the children. 

 

Lestrade was worn out.  It had been a long night, and with Sherlock and John on the run, and his job in question, Greg gave up on trying to sleep.  There was just too much going though his head.

 

Then he hear it, a small click of the back door being opened then closed.  He jumped at the sound but had heard it enough times before not to be afraid.  It was Sherlock.

 

“You shouldn’t be here.”  Lestrade called from his room.

 

There was no answer.

 

Lestrade got out of bed and moved to the hall.  There standing in front of him was Sherlock.  “You should not be here.  I am going to have to take you in,”  Lestrade told him.

 

Sherlock didn’t say anything just placed a gentle hand on the side of Lestrade’s face.  He leaned in and kissed Lestrade. 

 

When the broke apart Lestrade questioned, “Hey, what is wrong?”  Sherlock was never affectionate, especially like this.

 

Sherlock just looked at Lestrade, fighting all human emotion that was nearing the surface.  He knew what he was going to do, and he had ever bit planned, but it was Moriarty, anything could happen.  Sherlock knew that if one thing went amiss he would never again stand in front of this man, never again kiss the dry/chapped, but warm and soft lips of the Detective Inspector.

 

“Talk to me, what is wrong.  What is happening?  I know this isn’t just because you do not want to go to jail.  You’ve been to jail before, and it has never bothered you.  Tell me what is wrong.”  Lestrade demanded.

 

“I am sorry.” 

 

An apology, something bad was going to happen.  Sherlock never just apologized.

 

“Sherlock.”

 

Lestrade’s words were cut off.  Sherlock kissed him again.  “Goodbye Greg.”

 

Sherlock left again.  Tears were in his eyes as he relocked the back door behind him.  He knew that if anything went wrong tomorrow he at least said goodbye, and that saving his friends, especially Lestrade, was worth his own life, worth a hundred of his own lives.

****

****

***Present Time***

It had been a long day, and Lestrade just didn’t think he could handle anymore.

 

When Anderson had told him about the print, Lestrade called John, he needed someone to talk to.  Lestrade knew it was not possible for Sherlock to be alive.  He had seen the body in the morgue, John had watched Sherlock jump.  Though, so much pointed to Sherlock, out there somewhere.  Lestrade was emotionally drained.  He just needed to go home.

 

When Lestrade reached his door he was immediately on alert, the front door was unlocked.  There was someone in his house.

 

Lestrade pulled out his gun and walked as silently into the house as he possibly could.  There was a single light on in the kitchen.  Lestrade’s mind went instantaneously to the time he came home and found Sherlock high sitting on the counter in the kitchen.  Secretly he hoped for that scenario.  Even with recent events, he knew Sherlock was gone and there was no possible way he could ever get him back.

 

Lestrade was moving impossibly slow.  He has been on the police force long enough to know to check the rest of the house first.  He walked around checking each room in silent movements.  There was no one else in the house, but he could hear the movements in the kitchen.

 

He knew what to do.  He moved in and pointed the gun where he heard the noise.

 

“Don’t move,” Lestrade demanded.

 

The figure was standing at the sink.  He was injured and dealing with his wounds there.

 

As soon as Lestrade spoke, the man put his hands in the air dropping the bandaging as he did.  Lestrade could see the man’s hands were bloody and bruised, as though he had recently been in a fight.

 

“Turn around.”

 

The man did as he was told.

 

“No, no, why are you here?  Why have you done this?”  Lestrade began lowering his weapon.

 

It was Sherlock, no doubt about it.  The unruly curls were cut short and the lean, skinny frame, had be come a muscular, tone build.  His white porcelain skin was tanned to a very healthy shade, but this was defiantly Sherlock.

 

“Three years,” Lestrade stated and he raised his gun again.  “Three years, Sherlock!  You let me believe you were gone, that you were dead, for three years.  Where have you been?”  Tears began forming in Lestrade’s eyes.  “You couldn’t have told me that you were alive?  You let me mourn you, for three years?”

 

“I couldn’t, but I wanted to.”  Sherlock’s voice was horse and soft.

 

“Why the HELL not?”

 

“Three assassins, Moriarty had three assassins ready to kill the people in my life if I did not kill myself.  I couldn’t let anything happen to you, or John, or Mrs. Hudson.  I am very sorry.”  Apologies from Sherlock did not come easy, and Lestrade knew that if he had been able Sherlock would have done differently. 

 

Lestrade watched Sherlock for a moment; he still had his hands in the air.  Lestrade sighed, and lowered his gun.  “You’re bleeding.”  Greg moved over to tend to Sherlock’s hands.

 

“Yeah,” Sherlock smiled, “That last one put up a bit more of a fight.”  There was a long silence then Sherlock kissed the side of Lestrade’s head as the older man bandaged him up.  “I missed you, I missed this.”

 

Lestrade smiled.

 

***3 Years Earlier***

 

Lestrade was sitting up in bed reading.  It had been a long night, between the demon hound, the mind-altering fog, and the man blowing himself up.

 

It was not long after he went to bed that he heard the familiar sounds of lock picking.  Lestrade got up and opened the door.  “You could knock like a normal person.” 

 

Sherlock smiled.  “Didn’t know if you were sleeping.”

 

“Staying in here tonight?”

 

“If you’ll let me.”  He said timidly.

 

Lestrade walked back to the bed and picked his book back up.  Sherlock got in on the other side of the bed.  Sherlock curled into Lestrade’s body.

 

The two were quiet for a long time, Lestrade unconsciously rubbing Sherlock’s arm.

 

“Eh, thanks, for ummm, you know coming out.  It’s good.”  Sherlock said with a sleepy expression.

 

Lestrade kissed the younger man head and ran his fingers through the curls.  “I will always come for you.  I love you and I will do anything in my power to protect you.” 

 

Sherlock was quiet again, thinking.

 

“Does John know where you are?”

 

Sherlock curled in closer.  “No,” Sherlock smiled.

 

“He’s going to worry.”

 

“That’s what he does.”

 

“You are so mean to him.”  Lestrade laughed.  Lestrade kissed his head again.

 

Sherlock fell asleep.  He would be content to stay like this (Sleeping next to the older man) for the rest of his life.

 

**The End**


End file.
